Break Down The Door
by leavinghope
Summary: Sam Wilson was a veteran, a counselor, a superhero, an Avenger, a friend. This combination made him increasingly a repository of secrets, none larger than the truth about Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. (Note: Parts of this are post-Endgame and assume Steve is dead, but I would never let that happen to Steve Rogers.)
1. Chapter 1

One of the things Sam Wilson had enjoyed about his military service was the opportunity to travel. After the shocking and brutal death of his wingman Riley, he promised himself he would travel after his final tour, see more of the world without looking at it through a military lens. He never imagined being in Vienna at the side of Captain America in a search for one of the Howling Commandos.

Steve Rogers was pursuing James Buchanan Barnes with a terrifying level of focus. Sam and Steve hunted down lead after lead, often spending less than one day in a city before draining it dry. Sam was willing to admit he was exhausted, vociferously and frequently. Steve, however, wanted to run fast, and possibly forever, if it meant finally getting Bucky back.

Sam was worried about Steve.

He was worried Steve wasn't eating enough, wasn't sleeping enough, wasn't talking enough. He worried he was traveling with the inexhaustible, indestructible Captain America, but Steve Rogers might need to slow down and just breathe.

In Vienna as midnight approached, Sam finally put his foot down. "Look, Steve, I'm sorry this was another dead end. But please, for my health and yours, let's just stay here another day and rest up a bit."

"But…"

"No. Just no." Sam crossed his arms and stood his ground. "Let's get a good night's sleep, go to a museum or a concert tomorrow, eat dinner in an elegant restaurant, get another good night's sleep, and then we can leave."

Steve stopped shoving stuff into his duffle bag and slumped down onto his bed. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know I've been selfish."

"Hey, I think you could use a bit more selfishness in your life, honestly. But I'm worried about you, functioning at this pace for so long and all."

Looking up at Sam with a small, chagrined smile, Steve said, "I'm not sure I know how to slow down."

"Start with a shower and a comfortable bed." Sam patted Steve on the shoulder before sitting on his own bed. "I'm skipping straight to bedtime, myself."

Steve grabbed his toiletry kit and said, "Good night, Sam" before heading to the bathroom.

Sam woke up uncertain if Steve had slept at all, but they spent the day much as Sam had hoped. A leisurely breakfast of hot chocolate and pastries was followed by strolling through the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Sam had somehow missed the fact Steve had been an artist in his youth and now felt a great deal of curiosity about the notebook Steve carried at all times. Steve's enthusiasm for the art brought a brightness to his eyes previously missing during their year-long pursuit of the Winter Soldier. After a late afternoon snack in a sidewalk cafe and a masterful performance by a string quartet in a cathedral, Sam sighed gratefully as they sat to down to dinner.

"Thank you."

Sam glanced at Steve over the top of his menu. "For what?"

"For today. I'm sorry I didn't realize you needed a break. Thank you for not being…"

"… too intimidated by Captain America to give you orders?"

Steve smiled. "Yeah**.** That."

"Any time, man."

Conversation flowed naturally while they ate. Sam felt compelled to try a traditional wiener schnitzel, while Steve enjoyed duck confit and potato dumplings. They spoke of the beauty of the music they heard earlier in the day, and Steve had clearly enjoyed the art museum, considering how he went on and on about it.

As their desserts were placed before them, Sam said, "So, you like the arts, but when I asked you what made you happy when we met, you didn't have an answer. Art obviously sparks something in you."

"It always did." Steve shrugged. "I had hoped to make it into a career before…"

"Before?"

"Before the war."

Steve didn't talk much about his life before World War II. Sam wondered if it was because Steve could reasonably expect everyone to know his story or because Steve thought people wanted Captain America, not him.

"What else made you happy before the war?"

Steve hesitated a bit. "Wasn't much joy to be found in the Depression, but we managed to have fun. Bucky and I would take his sisters to the park and play catch. As we got older, we would go to Dodgers games a few times a year. Our moms would scrape together money for tickets, and once Bucky was getting steady work, he'd treat me." Steve was smiling at the memories. "He even took a few art classes with me. I think it was his way of making sure I didn't cause a fight with anyone there."

"You light up when you talk about Barnes. It's good to see."

Steve concentrated on eating his sachertorte and did not respond.

Sam knew he needed to follow that thread, but now wasn't the time. He switched to a happier topic. "Do you still draw?"

"Not as often as I used to, but I kinda can't stop doodling if I'm forced to sit still for too long."

"The notebook?"

Steve nodded.

Sam respected Steve's privacy too much to ask to see his notebook. He knew Steve would share if and when he wanted to. He also knew art was often recommended as therapy and could not help but ask, "So, did your therapist encourage you to take up drawing again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your therapist. The one they made you see when you came out of the ice."

Steve was silent.

Sam sat, stunned into a brief silence of his own. Of all the possibilities, Steve not seeing a therapist at all had not crossed Sam's mind. "Steve, did you talk to anyone after you woke up?"

"There wasn't time." Steve raised his hand to indicate they were ready for the check, signaling an end to the conversation.

Unfortunately for Steve, Sam had plenty of experience dealing with recalcitrant veterans.

Sam waited until he was about to get snug under his own bedding. He knew, worst case scenario, Steve would go to bed and at least feign sleep if he wanted to avoid this conversation with Sam. Anything to keep Steve from pulling yet another all-nighter and maybe, instead, make some progress on dealing with his issues.

"So, did you really not see a therapist after being pulled from the ice?"

Using his best stern, disappointed tone, Steve said, "Sam."

"Steve, I'm not just your friend. I'm also a counselor, and my counselor instincts are telling me to force this with you. Humor me, okay?"

Steve sat on his bed, posture stiff, feet on floor. "I wasn't joking when I said there wasn't time."

_Wait._ "How long had you been out before New York happened?"

"I'd been awake for about three weeks."

"Jesus. That was…"

Steve looked sharply at him. "What?"

"Damned insensitive and unprofessional of SHIELD."

Steve snorted. "There are no protocols in this business."

"Well, there should be. You were just a few weeks from losing the love of your life…" Sam paused as Steve inhaled sharply, "…and what, a few months, from losing Barnes?"

Steve focused on a thread he was pulling from the hem of his sleep shorts. "Bucky fell only about a week, actually, before I went into the ice."

Sam was furious, but not at Steve. Waking up seventy years displaced in time would have provoked feelings of disassociation. Serving in an active combat zone could naturally lead to PTSD. Losing a possible future with Peggy could trigger a major depressive episode. Not having time to process his grief over the death of his best friend? Icing on the shitcake as far as Sam was concerned.

Sam damped down his anger before saying, "You woke up straight out of a combat mission. You weren't given time to mourn Barnes and Carter and your whole life. That was cruel to expect of you. You should have at least had someone assigned to help you deal with all of that."

"Captain America can handle anything that comes his way."

The way Steve intoned the words led Sam to believe this was an old propaganda quote. Sad thing was, people still believe it.

"Well, maybe Captain America can, but how about Steve Rogers?"

"Never really had to cope on my own before." At Sam's questioning look, Steve added, "Bucky always had my back, ever since we were kids."

"How were you coping after Barnes fell from the train?"

"Found out I couldn't get drunk anymore." Steve laughed bitterly, before adding, "I focused on taking down Hydra. Didn't really look beyond the end of the mission. Nothing else seemed to matter after that."

"Was the mission when you ditched the plane into the ice your next mission after losing Barnes?"

Steve nodded.

"Jesus." It had been wartime, of course. Sam understood the pressure to serve better than most. But a man who would have been grieving so deeply, who would have been obviously emotionally compromised, should never have been allowed back in the field that quickly if there had been any alternative. He wondered if anyone had even questioned if Steve Rogers had been ready when Captain America was who was needed. "When you brought the plane down, you thought you were sacrificing your life to save millions of Americans on the East Coast. Would you have still done it if Barnes was alive?"

Steve did not answer right away. Sam was grateful. The hesitation meant Steve was truly evaluating his choice. Eventually, Steve said, "It was the right thing to do. But it would have been a more difficult decision if I'd known he was alive.**"**

And while not dead, Bucky Barnes was a ghost they were chasing across the world. "You still need to grieve his loss, Steve. Whatever we find, it won't be him."

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does."

"Not to me."

"How can it not matter? You saw what was done to him. Tortured and used and wiped for decades. It will have changed him drastically."

"Because he's Bucky!" Steve breathed deeply to control his emotions. "He's Bucky. That's all I need to know."

Not for the first time, Sam wondered about Steve's feelings for Bucky. Obviously strong bonds of friendship, of brotherhood. But was this level of devotion and loyalty about bringing back a lost friend, or did it speak to something deeper? Steve never said, but then again, would he?

Sam braced for a harsh reaction. "Do you love him?"

"Of course, I do. He's my best friend."

"That's not what I meant. Were you in love with him?"

Steve looked at Sam as if he had sprouted multiple heads.

Sam looked right back at him, expectation intentionally radiating from him.

Finally, Steve said, "Why would you ask that?"

"Because I think it's the right question to ask you at this moment."

Steve sat silently, appearing miserable and confused. Sam rapidly gained the impression Steve had never actively considered the possibility of romantic love for his friend before**. **Eventually, Steve reached over and turned off the bedside lamp. "Good night, Sam."

"'Night, Steve."

All-in-all, Sam thought it had gone well. And as any good counseling session should, it ended on a question to chew over before the next conversation. Sam practiced breathing exercises to help calm his residual anger over the way SHIELD and Fury and everyone had treated Steve coming out of the ice. Because Steve should have never been left alone like that, even if he wanted to be.

An unfamiliar noise pulled Sam out of his light sleep. It took him several moments of blinking to realize what had awoken him. Steve was crying. Softly, to be sure, but unmistakably. And as much as Sam did not want to embarrass him by acknowledging his tears, he truly believed Steve should not be left alone to figure out things for himself.

"Steve?"

Sniffling, the sound of hands wiping tears from his face. "Sorry I woke you, Sam. Go back to sleep. I'm okay."

"Are you really?"

There was a pause as Steve grappled with his reflexive defensiveness. "No."

"I'm sorry if our conversation upset you. I shouldn't have asked you that last question."

"No, Sam." A sob. "Turns out, it was the right question."

Sam reached for the bedside lamp, but Steve interrupted. "No, please, this will be easier for me in the dark."

"Anything, man."

"It's just…" There was a long gap filled only by the sound of Steve struggling to catch his breath. "For so long, Bucky was everything to me. I never even questioned his role in my life, the way I needed him so much. He'd just always been there. When he fell, I felt like I died, too. Hollowed out, nothing left of me." There was another pause before Steve said, "Maybe I really did mean to die on that plane."

Sam exhaled deeply. He should have realized Steve was brave enough to stare at his feelings until he figured them out, once pointed in the right direction. "You're doing great, Steve. You've made lot of progress in a few hours."

"Um, thanks?"

"Well, you should still find a therapist…" but Steve's scoff wouldn't let Sam finish.

"Really?" Steve launched into his best self-righteous tone. "Hello, I'm Captain America. I'm almost 100 years old. Most of what I do is not for public knowledge, so I can't talk to you about the choices that haunt me after every mission. Did I mention the part where the Nazis won? Oh, and I might possibly be in love with my best friend, but didn't realize it for eight decades because I was taught loving a man is a sin. And that friend, he's a brainwashed international assassin slash forgotten POW I'm searching for every second of every day until I know he's okay."

"Alright, you've made your point."

"Who'd believe the stories I'd tell, anyways? And who could I possibly trust with Bucky?"

At the tremble in Steve's voice, Sam made a mental note to start compiling a list of possible therapists for the Avengers.

"So, what do I do now?" His timid voice reminded Sam of how young Steve was.

"You learn to understand how you feel about Barnes. To know whether you're making decisions rationally, not emotionally, during this search. To know what is driving your need to reunite with him." Sam softened his tone. "And I'm not just saying this as a friend, but as a teammate. Your team deserves to know you have your head in the game. Your heart was never in question."

"You're right."

Steve sounded despondent, like he had let his team down. That would not do, so Sam decided to lighten the mood.

"You mean you never once thought about getting it on with Barnes?"

"Sam!"

"Seriously, he didn't do much for me while he was trying to kill me, but I've seen photos of the Howlies. I don't even swing that way, and I'd still…"

"Please, stop." Steve laughed.

_Mission accomplished. _"Oh, no. Every time I even glance at a woman, you give me shit. I have earned this."

"Well, _this _will take some getting used to."

Sam let his smile bleed into his voice. "Maybe it's good it's taking us so long to find him."

Steve waited a beat, then replied. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." Sam heard Steve nestle back under his blankets. "Good night, Steve."

"Good night, Sam, and thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

When his tablet chimed, Sam let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. When he'd last seen Bucky Barnes, after they Returned to find Steve gone, they had agreed on a check-in date and time. But Sam must have unconsciously assumed Bucky would miss it, based on the amount of relief he was feeling.

Sam swiped the tablet to accept the video call. Bucky was thinner than when he'd last seen him. The solidity of the supersoldier disappeared behind the fragility of his pain, the underlying despair in his eyes. It hurt Sam just to look at him.

"Hey, Wilson." Bucky's voice was gravelly, likely from lack of use.

"Barnes. Good to see you."

"Likewise."

From what Sam could see on the screen, Bucky was seated up to some sort of table. He had arranged a desk lamp so it illuminated his face, but allowed the rest of the room to fade into shadows. Sam had no idea where Bucky was. "So, how is Wakanda this time of year?"

Bucky just shook his head, and Sam replied "Sorry. I had to try. I won't ask again." And he meant it. Bucky had earned his privacy.

"Thank you."

The likelihood of Bucky still residing in Wakanda was low. T'Challa had offered him indefinite asylum and protection against extradition, but Bucky had refused, not wanting to bring the governments of the world against the people who had shown him such kindness. But that meant Bucky was out in the world, on the run from everyone, on his own.

_Must be a lonely space to occupy._ Sam smiled brightly towards his screen. "How have you been?"

"You know. Okay." Bucky shifted in his seat, but maintained eye contact.

Sam recalled Steve's description of Bucky in his youth as a charming and chatty conversationalist, a far cry from the soft-spoken and hesitant man who emerged from his recovery. But the very fact he had not disconnected the call after exchanging the initial pleasantries indicated he was forcing himself to interact with another human being. Obviously uncomfortable, but trying. Sam was proud of him.

"Well, I have most definitely not been okay. This whole Captain America thing is bullshit."

Having coaxed an involuntary chuckle from Bucky, Sam launched into a vivid description of the most recent Avengers missions. Bucky nodded and laughed at all the right places, but appeared to tear up when Sam ended his monologue with "Gotta admit, I like being a superhero."

"Must feel good."

"Yeah." Sam swallowed his anger at the reality the once lauded World War II hero in front of him was only remembered as a villain now and focused his attention back to Barnes. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Bucky shrugged and forced a smile. "What other choice do I have?"

"Have you talked with a professional?" Sam knew he must sound like a broken record to his friends, but he felt obligated to speak his mind.

"What, you mean besides you?"

"I'm a friend first, Barnes."

A surprised look quickly passed over Bucky's face, and he looked down at the table in front of him. "Thanks for that." Looking back at Sam, he continued, "I've talked to therapists. It was part of my recovery process. Wakandans don't consider mental health separate from physical health. It's all just health care."

"Sounds like paradise."

A genuine smile this time as Bucky thought of Wakanda. "Almost."

"Did talking help you?"

"I don't know. It doesn't change what I did. I killed men, women, children, horrible people, innocent people… I can intellectually appreciate I did so without my consent, that I was the weapon in the hands of someone else. But deep in my gut? It was me. I guess therapy gave me the ability to see the difference, even if I don't fully believe it." Bucky scratched at his beard. "It helps me get through each day, one day at a time."

"Sometimes that's all we can ask for."

Bucky nodded.

Sam teased him. "You know, that's the most I've ever heard you say in one go."

Bucky responded with a sly grin. "Wouldn't want you to get bored."

"Got any stories to share about what you've been up to?"

"Nope."

"You wanna talk about Steve?"

A sheen appeared in Bucky's eyes before he whispered, "Please."

Sam launched into an anecdote about a mission where everything went wrong, and Steve decided to fix things by throwing himself and his shield in the line of fire to protect his teammates, over and over again. Bucky responded with a few stories about the Howling Commandos and Steve's recklessness, and the two men shared fond and frustrated grins.

Sam exhaled a long breath. "I miss him a lot. Makes me wonder how you could have kept your distance for so long."

Bucky remained silent long enough for Sam to worry he had crossed an unforgivable line. Then he saw Bucky worrying his bottom lip, evidently coming up with a response. When he spoke, the words surprised Sam.

"In all your time knowing Steve, fighting beside him, did he require hospitalization?"

Sam shook his head, not quite seeing the connection, but trusting Bucky enough to patiently follow this line of reasoning.

"Just when I put him there, right? When I almost killed him."

"That wasn't you."

Bucky ignored Sam's interruption. "I was created to kill him, did you realize that? Erskine almost succeeded with Schmidt. Erskine did succeed with Steve. Schmidt had Zola create me to counter this success." Bucky's face twisted with shame. "If I hadn't recognized him, I would have killed him that day."

"The Winter Soldier would have killed him, not Bucky Barnes."

"Do you think that would have made one goddamn bit of difference to me? That's why I stayed away. This man I'd cared for my whole damned life, I was his bespoke killer. Do you know how much it terrified me to think someone could trigger me, could activate me to finish my mission? To hurt him again?"

The horror of it was incomprehensible to Sam, and he said as much. "I cannot even begin to imagine, man."

Bucky appeared to physically shrink in front of Sam, curling inward upon himself. "They must have been thrilled when they found out who I was to him. When he came out of the ice, they could have destroyed him just by leaking my file. My very existence would cause him pain, much less letting the Soldier loose upon him. Even free from Hydra, every time he saw me, I caused him nothing but pain."

"You know that isn't true." Sam wondered if he'd ever be able to convince Bucky he'd never seen Steve truly happy until he found out Bucky was alive, memories intact.

Bucky vanished inside his thoughts for a bit. Sam let him sit there quietly. Steve would hate to see Bucky suffer like this, having wanted nothing more than for Bucky to be happy, healthy, and whole. Sam seriously worried how long Bucky would keep up his efforts just to live, much less try to thrive.

Bucky shook himself from his reverie and managed a smile both painful and wistful. "I bet he felt betrayed more by the fact I landed him in the hospital than I hurt him the first place. Steve always hated hospitals."

Sam recognized the effort to lighten the conversation and encouraged it. "Why is that?"

"All the time he spent in them as a kid."

"Because his mom was a nurse?"

"Well, that didn't help, but he hated being a patient."

"I've seen the scrawny pictures. Didn't realize being a stick was such a problem."

"Not just scrawny, Steve was sickly. Missed a lot of school, always at the risk of failing. Last rites performed more than once." Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion. "You didn't know he almost died due to illness more than once as a kid?"

"No, I didn't." Sam felt absurdly guilty about it.

"You knew him better than most, Wilson, and you still didn't know that about him?"

Sam had wanted to get to know Steve honestly. He couldn't forget what he had learned in his history classes, but he did not want to have a Wikipedia article be the basis of a new friendship. Now he was regretting not reading everything he could about Steve.

Bucky buried his face in his hands, making it difficult for Sam to hear his words. "I thought he had friends, a family. I thought he was better off without me. But you all just knew Captain America. None of you knew Steve."

The truth of that struck Sam like a blow. "I'm sorry."

Bucky sighed and slumped back in his chair. "Shit, no, I'm sorry. I'm not blaming you. Steve didn't have a good history with opening up to people."

"Except you."

"Didn't have a choice with me." A glimmer of affection emerged in Bucky's eyes. "We were inseparable from the moment we met, too young to understand loving someone leaves you vulnerable."

_Now _that_ was an interesting choice of words. _"Did you love him?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Would the memory of him been able to break through seven decades of brainwashing and torture if I hadn't?"

Sam wanted to make sure Bucky understood what he was asking and blurted, "I mean, _love_ love."

"Oh, my god, Wilson. How old are you again?" Bucky actually laughed to his face. "I've been in love with Steve since I was a teenager**.**"

Whatever Sam had expected, it wasn't the unembellished statement of love he had just heard. "Um, wow."

"Does that honestly surprise you?"

Sam shook his head, but couldn't speak the words running through his mind. _I wish I could tell you Steve loved you, too._

Misinterpreting Sam's silence, Bucky said, "All the things I do feel ashamed of, you think I'd feel shame about loving Steve?"

Trying to make amends, Sam responded, "Just you are so upfront about it, rather than some stoic emotionally constipated Greatest Generation crap."

"I wasn't upfront about it when I should have been." Regret and a quietly simmering anger rang clear in Bucky's tone. "I thought we had more time together. Should have known from our history the universe didn't want it that way."

Sam had no idea what to say to that. Bucky solved that for him by signaling he wanted to end the call. "Any other news for me?"

"Nah. Same day and time next month?"

"Sure, Wilson."

"Sam, please."

"You can call me Bucky."

"I don't know if I can." At Bucky's hurt expression, Sam rushed to reassure him. "It's just the way Steve said your name, like a prayer on his lips." It was as close as Sam could get to letting Bucky know Steve loved him in return.

"Yeah." Bucky's mouth trembled. "Have a good month, Sam."

"Stay out of trouble, Barnes."

Sam sat quietly for a long spell after the call ended, his mind lost in thoughts of how best to be a comfort to Bucky. He worried the only person who could truly help him was lost to them forever.


	3. Chapter 3

"Heard from Barnes recently?" Natasha Romanov plopped down next to Sam, who was currently face-down on a sofa in the common area of the Avengers facility in upstate New York. Natasha always had perfect control of her body movements, so Sam recognized this lack of grace to be a calculated choice to ensure he was awake. It would have worked, too, had he been asleep.

Sam turned his head, cheek resting on the cushion, so his voice would not be muffled. "Every month, like clockwork."

"How is he doing?"

"Says he's fine."

"Any idea where he is?"

Sam lifted his head to look in Natasha's eyes. She was always hard to read, but he sensed only genuine curiosity, not that she was actively searching for Barnes. In any case, the truth was the same. "No."

"Would you tell me if you knew?"

"No."

"Good man." Natasha patted Sam on the right leg. He turned over and leaned against the armrest, his legs sprawled on Natasha's lap as she shifted to get more comfortable.

They sat together in silence, the late afternoon light filling the room. They had just come off a week-long operation. Clint Barton had already returned to his farm and Peter Parker to his schoolwork, but Natasha and Sam remained at headquarters to debrief along with the other members of the team. The mission had been straightforward, a hostage situation, but it had involved a large, sprawling compound, military-grade weaponry, multiple children and more than a few casualties. No deaths, but harrowing nonetheless.

Sam almost dosed off, but felt Natasha turn herself so she was seated more directly facing him. He mentally squirmed a little under her scrutiny. He could tell she knew he needed to talk. "How do you do it, Romanov? Keep so many secrets?"

"Most of the time, I focus on the need to survive, because that's what my secrets allow me to do. Other times, other types of secrets, I need to share the burden." She raised a speculative eyebrow at Sam. "Is that what you need right now, Sam?"

"Much as I hate to admit it, yeah."

Natasha obviously read Sam's internal struggle on his face. "You share yours, I'll share mine."

Sam felt a rush of gratitude, knowing Natasha's offer was both rare and sincere. He also wondered what secret Natasha felt the need to unburden herself of. "You go first."

"I knew the probable identity of the Winter Soldier, and I never told Steve."

Sam was startled by the admission, but not really surprised. "I must admit, given your history, I had wondered."

A distant look appeared on Natasha's face. "The Winter Soldier trained us. One of many who did, but he was different. In so many ways." She regained her focus and met Sam's gaze. "You know how when you spar, you want your partner to really fight back or it isn't worth it?"

"Yeah."

"He did that. He pushed us, but didn't cross the line into punishment and pain. Not like the others. By my messed-up judgment, he was kind." Natasha's mouth twisted into a wistful smile. "Possibly the only kindness I felt directed towards me before I escaped. Very likely he was the only reason I knew kindness existed at all."

Sam remembered the blank brutality of the Winter Soldier and hid his sympathy that it passed for kindness in Natasha's young life. On the other hand, he now knew how gentle and compassionate Bucky could be. How much the children in Wakanda adored him, how much Steve had loved him.

Natasha continued. "He was also different from the others because he was unstable. I now realize the longer he was awake, the more Bucky Barnes was trying to break through. He always had the mask on, so we could only see his eyes. The scream in them would get louder and louder until they wiped him and put him back in cryo. At some point we stopped seeing him at all. That must have been when they transferred him to here in the States."

Sam had looked up how long Bucky had been located in DC. He hoped Steve never had.

Natasha glanced sidelong at Sam and shrugged. "For obvious reasons, I wasn't raised with the legend of Captain America and the Howling Commandos. When I learned Steve would be joining SHIELD, I did my usual background research. And there were those eyes on the face of Captain America's best friend." Natasha lowered her voice, as if relating the worst part of her secret. "After a while, I noticed Steve's eyes were screaming, too, under his heroic facade."

Sam remembered Steve in his quiet moments before they found Bucky. "I know what you mean."

"In the end, I never told him. Barnes did."

_Whoa._ "How did Steve take it?"

"I don't know."

In response to Sam's raised eyebrow, Natasha said, "When he told me he knew, the context was how he was so happy that Barnes trusted him enough to share his memories. I think my betrayal paled in comparison to that."

Sam sat up and drew her eyes back to his. "You must know Steve trusted you. I never saw him treat you any differently…"

"…on an op, right?" Natasha sighed. "Steve was a consummate leader, and I was an asset. I always knew he valued me as a member of the team."

"But…?"

Natasha brushed away a single tear. "I'd hoped I'd progressed past teammate to friend. Now I'll never know."

Sam understood how much that must hurt Natasha. She made her way through the world by not allowing herself to get too close to anyone, but Steve had been a precious exception.

Natasha sat quietly next to Sam, as he rubbed small, sympathetic circles on her upper back. She allowed him to comfort her for a few moments before saying, "Alright, play fair. Your turn."

Sam hesitated, his urge to talk battling with his desire to be discreet.

Natasha, however, didn't allow him much time. "Is it about Barnes or Rogers or both?"

"Did you know they were in love with each other?"

"I thought it was painfully obvious to everyone."

"But did you _know_?" Sam placed a heavy emphasis on that last word.

"You mean, did I ever have confirmation from either of them about their feelings?"

"Yes."

"Of course not." Natasha stared at Sam, as if he'd sprouted wings for real. "Wait, you talked to them?"

Sam nodded. "Got it out of Steve while we were searching for Barnes."

It was difficult to surprise Natasha, but Sam had succeeded. She blinked a few times, then asked, "And Barnes?"

"The love is just bleeding out of him right now. It's like an open wound, and I can't staunch the flow."

"You make it sound awful."

"No, not at all. It's beautiful, honestly, to hear him talk about Steve. I'm finally getting a sense of who Steve Rogers was, rather than the Captain America ideal. And Barnes, god, I'm starting to understand why Steve loved him. But I worry about him. He has a whole future ahead of him without Steve in it, and he…"

"He what?"

"I'm worried he doesn't want to live that future."

"Hence your monthly check-in appointments. Giving him something to live for?"

"Hey, I'm not above manipulating his survivor's guilt to keep him alive."

"I'm impressed, Wilson. That's a little more ruthless than I would have previously given you credit for."

"Don't underestimate me, Romanov."

Bruce Banner and Stephen Strange walked in, and Sam gave them a welcoming wave**. **Bruce entered the kitchen, and Stephen stood looking out of the wall-spanning window. Sam found Stephen to be, well, strange. Now in his civilian clothes, he looked like a rich hipster, not a powerful sorcerer. He had only recently started participating on team missions, mostly preferring to be on his own. His position within the Sanctums meant he had different duties and allegiances. And burdens of his own, Sam thought, knowing Stephen still had an Infinity Stone.

Natasha ignored the intrusion. "Why is this weighing on you so much?"

Sam turned his attention back to Natasha, lowering his voice. "Because there is this epic, tragic love story here, and it will never be acknowledged. We'll hear Steve loved Peggy Carter, and he did, but he loved Barnes, too. And what that love made them both capable of… Nobody, but us, will ever know how their love changed the course of history. I just feel like it should be known."

"Maybe Barnes will tell the story himself some day?"

Sam scoffed, "When will it ever be safe for him to do so?"

From the kitchen, Bruce offered, "Tea?"

Natasha replied, "That would be appreciated."

Stephen walked over and opened the refrigerator. "Just grabbing some water before heading home, thank you."

Sam added, "Some tea sounds good to me."

Sam and Natasha adjusted so there was plenty of room for Bruce to sit on the couch with them. Sam was not sure what had happened between Natasha and Bruce, but he knew enough to make sure Bruce could sit at Natasha's side**.**

Bruce handed mugs to both of them. "What's going on?"

Natasha answered. "Just talking about Rogers and Barnes."

"Those poor kids." When Sam and Natasha both smiled with amusement, Bruce defended his comment. "Both of them were younger than me in years lived out of the ice."

Sam boggled. "I never really thought about it that way."

"I think I need something stronger than tea now," added Natasha.

"Knowing all they went through, I can't stop thinking about it." Bruce looked at Sam thoughtfully. "Heard from Barnes recently?"

"He checks in regularly."

"Good." Bruce ducked his head shyly. "Tell him he'll always have a place with me, if he wants it. I kind of have sympathy for someone who is afraid of a monster lurking beneath their surface."

Sam thought of how grateful Steve would be for the generosity his friends were willing to extend to Bucky. "I'll let him know."

Sam noticed Strange fiddling with the Time stone, now back in its pendant around his neck. "You okay over there?"

"I heard your earlier discussion." Stephen admitted. "I didn't have a chance to know Captain Rogers or Sergeant Barnes. Their story is tragic. It's hard to imagine suffering as much as they did, as much as Barnes must continue to. What is the point of our powers if we cannot prevent stories like theirs?"

Natasha responded, "We can't stop all evil in this universe. But we mitigate the damage, in ways it wouldn't be if we didn't exist."

Strange seemed dissatisfied with her answer. Sam thought he would say more, but instead Stephen opened up a portal. The New York Sanctum was visible through it. "I'll be ready when you need me." And then he disappeared.

"I cannot get used to that." Bruce shook his head in amazement before getting caught up in a large yawn.

Natasha placed a throw pillow on her lap and patted it in invitation. "Bruce, lay down. It was a rough mission for you."

Bruce gently placed his head on her lap, and she carded her fingers through his curls. Natasha leaned closer to Sam, and he put his arm around her shoulders. The three of them stayed like that, each lost in their thoughts, as the room darkened into twilight.


	4. Chapter 4

Bucky was late. Bucky was _never_ late, and yet here Sam was, frantically checking his wifi connection and refreshing his video chat link. It was seventeen minutes past their regularly scheduled monthly chat time, and Sam was on the verge of hyperventilating.

It was ridiculous, this life Sam was now living. Sometimes he remembered his life in the military, when he thought his wings were the weirdest thing that would ever happen to him. Now he was some Falcon/Captain America hybrid, with most of the Avengers looking to him for leadership second only to Carol Danvers.

Perhaps it was all part of his shouldering the mantel previously worn by Steve Rogers, this worrying about Bucky Barnes. There had to be some reason Sam was currently terrified of letting a dear, dead friend down over losing his star-crossed assassin.

"I will give you a full hour before I renege on my promise to respect your privacy, Barnes." Sam said aloud.

Sam was alone in his apartment in DC. It was a designated weekend off for him. The talk with Natasha and Bruce reinforced his determination to make the Avengers take better care of themselves. He even found himself getting support from Stephen, who he had forgotten was a medical professional, a damned good one, before he became Sorcerer Supreme. Admittedly, Stephen groused about having to talk to a therapist himself (_"It didn't help me before.")_, but he, like Sam, could cite all the facts and statistics for why mental healthcare was a good thing to strive for.

After a friendly confrontation with the team about how they needed to look out for each other at home as well as on missions, Sam had been appointed to come up with an organizational plan. Now there were a certain number of mandatory days off per month, with exceptions for major catastrophic events. The team leaders had brainstormed other policies: Bruce was responsible for making his own call as to whether the Hulk was needed, Peter was not to be disturbed during finals and other important school activities, Stephen was allowed to prioritize his duties at the New York Sanctum, Clint was allowed to be at his farm two weeks out of every month, Thor would check in monthly when off-world, and Natasha was compelled to actually take vacation. Rhodey, who continued as War Machine although Tony retired as Iron Man**, **acted as official governmental liaison, and Sam was able to continue counseling with the VA. The team was able to plan and achieve some semblance of personal lives. Finally.

All of this was running through the back of his mind as Sam screened applications for therapist positions for the team. Stephen had recommended some from the New York area. Rhodey had contacts at military installations around the world. Each applicant had worked previously for the VA and had cleared Natasha's non-traditional, extremely thorough background checks. The legal team from Stark Industries was drafting contracts and non-disclosure agreements. Sam had goals for these positions: to have adequate staffing for 24/7 availability, a range of ages, experiences, and backgrounds that would allow for growth through exposure to the reality of working with the Avengers, and yet strong enough personalities to stand up to the reticence of the team. Sam did not envy whoever ended up in these positions, and he vowed to mentor them as best as he could.

Sam sent his final recommendations to Maria Hill. The team had made positive strides, and Sam was proud of them. _See what happens when people finally talk to each other?_ And with that thought running through his head, at thirty-eight minutes after Bucky's appointment time, Sam's phone chimed its text message notification from an unknown number.

_"__Stop worrying. Everything is fine, better than fine."_

Then another two chimes in rapid succession.

_"__Forgive Strange for using the Time stone, just this once." _

_"__And then maybe take it away from him."_

Chime. An image displayed.

Sam's jaw dropped.

Bucky no longer appeared haunted, which was surprising considering the ghost by his side.

"Goddammit, Rogers." Sam murmured, tears welling up.

Bucky was enveloped in Steve's strong arms. Steve, not dead, but laughing and so very alive.

Chime. _"Guess we'll have a lot to talk about when you visit Wakanda. We hope to see you soon."_

Chime. _"Delete these, you sentimental dumbass, and don't tell anyone about this yet."_

The notifications were coming in overwhelmingly fast. The latest on his tablet. It was T'Challa, a video chat invitation. He swiped it open. The two men were on good enough terms after all they had faced together to allow for Sam to skip the niceties. "How do you know this is safe, Your Highness?"

"Ms. Romanov swept your apartment for surveillance devices last night while you slept." T'Challa's voice held the hint of admiration as it always did when he spoke of Natasha.

Shuri popped into view. "And apparently you are adorable when you sleep, Birdman."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Alright, both of you stop teasing me, and please tell me what the hell is going on."

"Strange acted because his vision of the only defeat of Thanos did not result in Captain Rogers' death." T'Challa's expression conveyed the seriousness of the situation. "Strange can control the Time Stone with great precision. He went back to a millisecond after Captain Rogers' death and retrieved his body. We were able to revive him here."

"Why didn't that alter our timeline?"

Shuri responded, "Perhaps it has, subtly. But as long as it does not quickly become common knowledge that Steve is alive, the world can continue as it has been."

"So, this isn't my chance to get rid of the Captain America title?"

"Sorry, Birdman."

Sam paused before saying quietly, "Are you sure it's him?"

T'Challa nodded. "Strange brought him directly to Wakanda a week ago, to revive Rogers and reunite him with Barnes. But Barnes was not here, so we conducted a thorough round of medical and psychological tests before contacting him."

Shuri added, "It would have done incalculable damage to Bucky if this had been some sort of illusion. We are confident it's Steve."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "This is incredible."

"It is." T'Challa smiled. "They are welcome to live with us in Wakanda indefinitely, although I doubt Rogers will be content to stay in any one location for very long."

Sam thought back to when Steve would leave the team to spend time with Bucky in Wakanda. How happy he looked to be going there. How his visits had been growing longer and longer. Sam thought Steve might just be ready to live out the rest of his life there, as long as Bucky was at his side.

"I don't know how to thank you for everything you've done for my friends."

"You could come help us with these old men. It has barely been twenty-four hours, and these lovebirds are making me sick." Shuri's playful grin belied the snark in her words.

Sam raised his eyebrows, and T'Challa asked, "Did you not know?"

"Oh, I knew. I just wasn't sure _they_ knew."

Both T'Challa and Shuri burst into giggles. "I think they've figured it out," she said.

"Come to us today. The airspace is open to you."

"Or I could open a portal for you right now." Stephen came into view behind T'Challa and Shuri.

"Get your ass over here now, Strange."

"Yes, Captain." Stephen somehow managed to perform a sarcastic salute.

"See you all soon."

Sam knew he should pack a bag before the characteristic glow of a portal lit up his living room, but he was too happy to disturb the moment. His team was healthy and safe. Bucky and Steve were both awake, alive, and miraculously together, and they had a bunch of stories to share. Sam was looking forward to all the talking once he got to Wakanda.


End file.
